


The Language of Florists

by Kiraly



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Reynir/Tuuri, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Language of Flowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-08-31 20:17:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8592097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiraly/pseuds/Kiraly
Summary: Lalli wants nothing more than a peaceful life arranging flowers and not having to deal with people. When a customer comes in with an...unusual request, he finds that maybe some people are worth the effort.





	1. The 'F' in 'Flower'

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooo I started this AGES ago, but what was supposed to be a one-off turned into a fic that needed multiple chapters. I got bogged down with other things for a while, but I finally got the second chapter of this finished so I feel like I can post the first one. Many thanks to lilithqueen for enthusiasm and idea-bouncing, and also for being the one to point out that Lalli wouldn't need flowers to say "fuck you". (And many thanks to the other friends since that time who made enthusiastic noises when I mentioned I was writing this).
> 
> Oh, yeah, on that note...the teen rating on this is mostly due to excessive use of the f-bomb. You'll see why if you choose to read it anyway.

Lalli Hotakainen perched behind the front desk of the flower shop and prayed to whichever gods might be listening that no customers would come in. He wasn’t supposed to be behind this desk, he was _supposed_ to be all the way in the back room, arranging flowers. But his cousin and her boyfriend, who usually handled customer service, had begged an hour off to have lunch together for once. Which left Lalli here, hoping for no business.

Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. No sooner had Lalli sat down than a young man blew through the doors like a raging storm and slapped a credit card on the counter. Lalli only had time for a brief impression of golden hair and manic grin before the customer blurted out his request.

"Okay, listen. I need six table arrangements with flowers that passive-aggressively say 'Fuck you'. Can you have them done by tomorrow?"

Lalli blinked. "What?"

  
The blond man sighed and fluffed his already-perfect hair. "Look, if you can't do it by tomorrow, just say so. I'll get someone else."   
Lalli frowned. "What? No, I can do them.” He was the best florist in the city, of course he could. Even if the request was a little odd. “But...'fuck you?' Why do you need flowers to say that?"

The customer shook his head. “If you knew my mother, you’d understand. She expects me to just drop everything I’m doing to cater to her whims! I know for a fact she’s been planning this party for a month, but suddenly she needs floral arrangements and _I’m_ the one she calls to scramble around at the last minute. So she’ll get her flowers, but they’ll be _spite_ flowers, dammit!”

“Ah.” That... _almost_ made sense. Lalli understood that family could be demanding—he wouldn’t be in this situation right now if it weren’t for family, after all. But he wouldn’t have relied on flowers to vent his feelings. “Can’t you just... _tell_ her to fuck herself, instead of doing what she wants?”

“Oh, no,” the blonde said, “No, I couldn’t do that. She’s frustrating enough when things are going her way, but when something actually goes _wrong…_ ” he shuddered. “No, it’s better for everyone if I just go along with her stupid games.”

Lalli grimaced. Even though he didn’t wait on customers himself—most of the time—he’d heard plenty of stories about them from Tuuri. Enough to know that people could be...unreasonable...when it came to planning events. It was a shame this customer’s mother seemed to be one of them. A guy who plotted revenge in the form of flower arrangements clearly didn’t deserve that. _Not that I actually know anything about him,_ Lalli reminded himself, _he’s a stranger, just a customer and nothing more. Just a customer...who happens to have very nice hair and pretty blue eyes. Which doesn’t matter. Of course not._

Cuteness aside, the man was waiting for his answer. Lalli shrugged and said, “Well, if that’s what you want to do.” The only problem was, Lalli knew there was no flower that specifically meant ‘fuck you’. He’d have to put a few things together...and that involved research. With a sigh, he hopped off his stool and gestured toward the _Employees Only_ door. “Come back here for a minute. I have to check the book.” At the customer’s blank stare, he added, “If you have time?”

The other man shook himself. “Oh! Uh...sure. I don’t have to be anywhere for a while.” He followed Lalli through the door and down the hallway. “I’m Emil, by the way. Emil Västerström.”

“Lalli Hotakainen.”

* * *

 

Emil followed the florist— _Lalli, his name is Lalli—_ into a room filled from floor to ceiling with lush greenery. Every surface boasted some kind of plant: climbing vines, daisies in pots, vases with delicate half-finished arrangements awaiting their creator’s return. The intoxicating perfume of their combined fragrances surrounded them like a cloud. Lalli moved through the riot of colorful blossoms with practiced ease, occasionally pausing to pinch off a dead leaf. He led Emil to a workbench scattered with odds and ends—wire, floral tape, scraps of paper with scrawled notes, handfuls of petals arranged in order of color—and reached across it to fetch a tattered book from behind a potted fern.

“Sit,” Lalli said, waving vaguely at a chair. Emil moved a bag of potting soil and sat down to watch. Lalli opened the book and paged through, jotting notes as he went. Then he shuffled some of the colorful petals around, crossed something off his list, and set off for the other end of the room. He wove his way through the chaos of flowers, plucking a spray from one plant and a few blooms from another. Somehow, the way he moved through the room lent a sense of order to the crowded space. Eventually Lalli returned with an armful of blossoms. He spread the lot on the workbench and then...well, as far as Emil could tell, he proceeded to work magic. A bouquet took shape under deft fingers, and in a matter of minutes it was finished.

“So?” Lalli stood back so Emil could see the results. “What do you think?”

“Oh—it’s _beautiful,”_ Emil breathed. His mother would approve. “But...how does it say...what I want it to say?”

A tiny smile crept across Lalli’s face. “It’s all in the book.” He held up the battered volume so Emil could see the title: _Language of Flowers._ “Here. Borrow it, look them up. If you don’t think it works...I won’t charge you for the arrangements.” He stuck his scrap of paper inside the cover and passed the book to Emil.

“Really? But I...are you sure?” Emil felt caught in the florist’s gaze. _Is this...some kind of test?_

Lalli nodded. “I’m good at this. The best.”

“At arranging flowers? Or telling people to go fuck themselves?” The words popped out before Emil could stop them, and he blushed crimson. _I can’t believe I just said that!_

But Lalli only smiled again and said, “Both.”

* * *

 

That night, Lalli sat down with a mug of tea and his watercolors. He made it a habit to sketch something every day, whether it was an idea for a new arrangement or merely a flower study. He kept the resulting artwork to himself, of course. It was personal. Not something to be shared. Without the pressure of critical eyes, he could let the stress of the day slip away, translated into line and color and form. This time, he dipped his brush and carefully traced the contours of a blue periwinkle. Not one of the flowers he’d put in the bouquet; a flower, instead, that described his thoughts on the golden-haired Emil Västerström. _Blue periwinkle. Early friendship._ He finished the painting, stared at it for a moment, then went back in and added a snowdrop. _Hope._

 

 

 

Emil arrived at the flower shop early the next day. He didn’t _need_ to pick up his order until late afternoon, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d been up half the night reading the flower language book, cross-referencing it with Lalli’s notes. It hadn’t been easy puzzling out the handwriting, but he thought he’d figured it out. Hopefully, he could get away with showing up early to talk to the florist. _I have to make sure he knows I’m satisfied with my order,_ Emil told himself. _It has nothing to do with wanting to see if I can get him to smile again._

When he entered the shop, Lalli was nowhere in sight. Instead, a freckled man with red hair in a braid down his back greeted Emil with a wave. “Hi! Welcome to Finn Family Florists. Can I help you?”

“Umm.” Somehow, the reasons he’d come up with for arriving early didn’t seem so brilliant anymore. “I...ordered some flowers yesterday, and I wanted to talk to the florist I met then? Lalli?”

The employee blinked. “Lalli? But he never waits on customers! He’s usually just in the back…are you sure it was him?”

 _Of course it was, I think I would have remembered if I talked to someone else!_ “That was the name he gave. Silver hair, blue eyes? About my height, but skinnier?” _Moves through a room full of plants like he’s some kind of forest mage?_

“Oh! That’s definitely Lalli. But really, he doesn’t like to be bothered when he’s working, he gets mad if I—”

“Sweetheart, who are you—oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t know we had a customer.” A woman appeared from the back room, carrying an armload of flowers. “Hi! I’m Tuuri, this is Reynir, let us know if we can help you with anything.”

The redhead—Reynir, apparently—turned a beseeching look on the woman. “He wants to talk to Lalli.”

Tuuri’s eyebrows rose. “He wants to talk to...ah! You must be the man from yesterday. Lalli mentioned you.”

“Mentioned me?” _What did he say? Good things? Bad?_ The words were on the tip of Emil’s tongue, but he managed to keep them from spilling out. This Tuuri was clearly related to Lalli somehow; she had the same pale hair, same blue-grey eyes, and a hint of the same pattern to her speech. There the resemblance ended, though; where Lalli was all sharp lines and angles, Tuuri was round and soft, with a smile that didn’t have to be coaxed out of her.

“He did! He said you’d be back today. Rush order, right?”

Emil shuffled his feet. “Er...yes. Well. I was wondering if I could talk to him? I have...a question.”

To his relief, Tuuri didn’t press him about what he wanted to ask. “Sure, he said you could come on back. Reynir, display these for me, will you, love?” She passed her flowers off to Reynir and motioned for Emil to follow her.

“So you and Lalli are...siblings?”

“Cousins,” Tuuri said. “And part-owners of the shop. My brother actually owns the largest share in the business, but he hardly ever comes here. Spends most of his time in the off-site greenhouse. Anyway, Lalli’s through there. I think he’s finished with those arrangements you ordered, if you’re here to pick them up.”

Emil paused in front of the workroom door, surprised. “You’re not coming with me?”

Tuuri grinned. “Nah, if Lalli said it’s okay for you to go in, I don’t think I have to worry about you upsetting him. You can pay in the front when you’re finished.” With that, she turned and left him.

 _Worry about me upsetting him? But he’s...so calm._ Emil shook his head. _At least that makes one of us._

Lalli wasn’t at his workbench; after a moment, Emil spotted him in a corner with a watering can. Despite his efforts to approach quietly, he’d only taken a few steps before Lalli glanced up. “Oh. You’re back.”

“Hi.” Now that he was actually in front of Lalli, Emil couldn’t think of what he’d planned to say. Eventually he stammered, “I...uh, I figured out those flowers.”

“Oh?” Lalli finished watering the plant—some kind of orchid, Emil thought—and wandered off in a new direction.

Emil followed him. “Uh, yeah. So the orange lily is for hatred, right? And the little white ones are,” he consulted the paper, “meadowsweet, for uselessness. Which pretty much sums up my mother when she gets like this, honestly.” He grimaced and looked back at the list. “Anyway, foxglove for insincerity...I guess you put that one in because I’m doing this, but I’m not happy about it? And yellow carnation for disappointment. Then there’s…” he squinted at his paper and frowned. “Umm...I kind of...spilled coffee on this, so I can’t read the last one. But I remember it’s a geranium! That means, umm…”

“Stupidity.”

Emil blushed. He could feel Lalli staring at him, and the weight of his gaze felt like a judgment. “Oh, right. So...how did I do?”

The florist set his watering can by the workbench and idly twisted a bit of wire. “You have disappointed me.”

“What?!” Emil felt the red spreading from his face down his neck, and he was sure he must be actually radiating embarrassment. “Why? What did I get wrong?”

Lalli’s fingers stilled. “What? Oh. The yellow carnation. It means _you have disappointed me,_ not _disappointment._ ”

If anything, this just made Emil blush harder. _Well, if he didn’t think I was an idiot before, he does now. I’ll just go bury myself in shame and plant geraniums on top._ “I thought...I must have messed something up.”

Lalli shook his head. “No.” A brief flicker of smile, so fast Emil nearly missed it, then— “So. Your fucking flowers are ready. Want to see?”

The arrangements were perfect, of course. Emil half-wished they weren’t, because it struck him suddenly that once he walked out the door with them, he had no reason to come back. _I suppose there’s always a chance that Mother will send me here for something else, but her whims don’t usually serve anyone but herself._

“Wow. These are...spectacular. Thank you,” Emil said. _You’re spectacular._

Lalli nodded. “Yes.”

“How much do I…?” Emil reached for his wallet. _Maybe I could buy you a coffee sometime?_

Lalli shook his head, and for a minute Emil thought he was hallucinating— _he can’t be saying they’re free, that’s insane, why would he—_ until Lalli continued, “Pay up front with Tuuri.” He leaned back against his workbench, gripping the wood with white-knuckled hands. He opened his mouth to speak again, then seemed to think better of it.

Emil blundered into the silence. “So, uh...I’ll just...be going, then.” _Here’s my phone number, in case you ever need to call a guy who’s too awkward to ask you out._

“Yes.” Lalli shifted from foot to foot, then added, “Enjoy your flowers.”

“Thanks, you too!” Emil was halfway to the door by the time his words caught up to him, and by then it was easier to just keep walking than to turn around and correct himself. _You too? What kind of idiot says that? I’m the one buying the flowers, he’s not...well I guess he does HAVE flowers, but that’s not what I...oh, this is hopeless._ Somehow he managed to pay for his flowers and get out of the shop, and hopefully the other employees didn’t notice the redness of his face.

_Well, that’s that. I wish I’d gotten to talk to him more, but...he’s so calm and collected, and I’m so...not. Probably just as well that I won’t have any further opportunities to do something stupid in front of him._

Emil used this line of reasoning to comfort himself all the way to his apartment, where he found the _Language of Flowers_ book lying forgotten on his pillow. _Oh, no._

* * *

 

Lalli filled the page with tiny brush strokes, laying down soft shadows to suggest the delicate white petals. The intense focus helped; it calmed him, distracted from the thoughts that whirred in the background. _I’ll never see him again,_ his inner voice whispered. _Disappointment,_ said the Carolina Syringa taking shape beneath his brush.


	2. Family Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emil returns to the flower shop to ask Lalli an important question - and ends up asking for something very different.

_“IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND, I’M THE FIRST IN LINE,_  
_HONEY I’M STILL FREE_ _  
TAKE A CHANCE ON ME—”_

Emil hit the snooze button and pulled the blankets over his head. It was no good, though—he was awake, and with waking came a renewal of the thoughts that had kept him up late the night before. _‘Thanks, you too.’ What a stupid thing to say! And then I forgot to give his book back. I’ll have to face him again to return it, and he’ll see just how ridiculous I am._

He groaned and rolled over. The longer he put off getting out of bed, the longer he could put off facing Lalli.

_Unless…_

Unless Lalli _didn’t_ think he was an idiot. Maybe he’d just be happy to have his book. Maybe he’d appreciate the gesture and ignore the clumsy delivery. _Maybe, if I take the book back, I can work up the courage to ask him out for coffee, too._

Cheered by that thought, Emil pushed the blankets back and sat up. He could see it now. He’d walk into the shop with the book and apologize. Thank Lalli again for doing such a beautiful job with the flowers. Then oh-so-casually ask if Lalli liked coffee. _Yes. That will work. This is a perfect plan._

* * *

  


Quiet. Soothing green scents. The familiar _snick_ of the shears as they clipped a stem. Lalli was left to the peace of his workbench at last. But even surrounded by the comforting presence of his plants, he couldn’t settle into his routine. Thoughts of a certain foul-mouthed blonde kept intruding. _He was just a customer. Why am I still thinking about him?_

He was poking halfheartedly at a bouquet for someone’s 50th wedding anniversary— _roses and baby’s breath, how original—_ when Reynir cleared his throat at the door.

“Lalli? Umm...I know I’m not allowed in, and you hate it when I interrupt you, but…”

 _“What?”_ Lalli growled. He and Reynir got along better these days, but it was hard to be patient when he took _forever_ to get to the point.

“There’s someone here to see you,” Reynir finished.

“I don’t _see_ people,” Lalli protested. He worked back _here,_ and Reynir worked up _there,_ and Tuuri went back and forth depending on who needed her help. That was how they did things. It worked. There was no need to change that now.

But Reynir wasn’t giving up so easily. “He _really_ wants to see you. He insists.”

“Mrrr.” Why did Tuuri have to be gone at a time like this? She was the one who dealt with obnoxious customers. Reynir was too...well, _Reynir,_ to tell people ‘no’. With another grumble, Lalli pushed to his feet. “Fine.” He shoved past Reynir and stalked to the front of the shop, fully intending to tell the customer to fuck off and leave him alone. This plan fell apart as soon as he saw who waited for him on the other side of the counter. _Fuck._

It was the exact person Lalli couldn’t stop thinking about: Emil. He was dressed much the same as the first two times Lalli had seen him: neatly pressed slacks, collared shirt with a vest overtop and the sleeves pushed up, shoes nearly as shiny as his hair. But today he had his hands shoved in his pockets, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Almost like he was nervous, which was ridiculous. Well-dressed men with the money to spend on extravagant bouquets didn’t get nervous around scrawny florists in grubby jeans and old sweaters.

But apparently, this one did. “Hey, Lalli. Um.”

Lalli waited for more, but nothing came out of Emil’s mouth. Finally, his curiosity won out. “What? Did your mother hate the flowers?”

Emil’s face turned a shade of red that roses would envy. “No! Oh, no, she loved them. I got to listen to her gushing about them to all her friends, with no idea what they meant. But, umm...I came here because...well…I was wondering…”

 _“IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND, I’M THE FIRST IN LINE—”_  


Emil flinched so hard he nearly knocked over a vase of sunflowers. “I’m sorry! That’s my phone, I—” He wrestled the offending object out of his pocket and put it to his ear. “What?”

Lalli couldn’t hear the voice on the other end of the line, but he could see the effect their words had on Emil. His mouth stretched into a hard line, and his brows lowered. When he spoke again, the words were clipped and cold. “I see. I suppose I—” more talking. A muscle twitched in Emil’s jaw. “Fine. I’ll look into it. Yes, all right.” He hung up without saying goodbye. Then he sighed. “Sorry. What was I saying?”

“You were telling me why you came here,” Lalli said. _And doing a pretty bad job of it._

“Oh. Right.” Emil ran a hand through his hair. “Well...actually, that call was about you. Sort of.”

“Oh?”

Emil took a deep breath. “See...my cousin—my mom’s sister’s daughter—is getting married. And her florist had to cancel, and now they’re looking for a new one, and,” he straightened his vest, “my aunt was _so impressed_ with the bouquets at Mother’s party, that…”

Lalli finished for him. “She wants our shop to do them.”

Emil blinked. “Well, yes.”

There had to be more to it than that, though. “But why did she call _you,_ and not the shop?” And for that matter, why was Emil here already if his aunt had only just called him?

“Well, that’s the thing...Mother told her that I was the one who ‘discovered’ you—her word, not mine—so Aunt Mimmi wants _me_ to coordinate everything. She gave me free reign to ‘work my magic’ as she calls it—the arrangements can have any flowers I want, as long as she likes the results.” He sighed, then added, “Except for orange lilies, because it turns out my mother is allergic to those. Hatred makes her sneeze, I guess.”

The corners of Lalli’s mouth twitched into a smile before he could stop himself. Emil noticed. “See what I have to put up with? I know it’s a lot to ask—and a tall order to do flowers for a wedding where the bride doesn’t even know what she wants—but I think we could do it. I mean, obviously _you’d_ be the one doing it. I’d just...help, if I can, because the flowers you did last time were amazing, and I was looking at your book and thinking—oh!” He reached into his vest and pulled out a book. “I almost forgot this _again!_ I meant to give it back to you right away, but I forgot it at home, and then Aunt Mimmi called, and...well, here it is.”

Lalli took the book and ran his hand over the cover. It was still warm from lying close to Emil’s body. _I thought he was gone forever. But now he’s back, and he wants..._ Lalli couldn’t tell what he wanted, really. It was one thing to do some flower arrangements. But a whole wedding...that was something different. _And he said he would help me. How would that even work? He doesn’t do flowers, and I don’t do people._ That was the real problem. Wedding flowers were never _just_ flowers. They were late night phone calls from the mother of the bride, crowds of people in fancy dress in an uproar because there weren’t enough gardenias...no. Lalli didn’t do weddings. If the shop decided to take on work for something like that, Tuuri handled it. _But he’s not asking for Tuuri. He’s asking for me._

And part of Lalli wanted to say yes. Because if he didn’t, Emil would walk out the door, and this time he wouldn’t be back. But he couldn’t just agree to this. He needed time to think.

“Can you…come back?” The words escaped in a rush. They came out wrong; Lalli could see Emil’s shoulders tense. He closed his eyes. “Just...an hour. So I can decide.”

“Oh. Sure, that’s...I can do that. An hour. I’ll just go and...come back. Yes.” Emil practically tripped over his feet in his haste to flee the shop.

Lalli sank onto the stool, still clutching the book. _An hour. I can figure this out. As long as Emil really does come back._

* * *

 

By the time Emil’s hour was up, he’d prepared himself for the inevitable disappointment. He knew Lalli wouldn’t help him. The florist was busy, surely, and had plenty of orders to work on. He wouldn’t have time for this crazy scheme. All Emil could do now was accept his answer gracefully and go looking for another florist with what remained of his dignity. _And say goodbye to any possibility of asking him out. If only I’d managed to do it before Aunt Mimmi called...but I didn’t. It’s too late now; I gave the book back, I won’t have an excuse to see him again._

He’d half expected that he’d have to take the rejection from one of the other employees, but Lalli was still there, fidgeting with a handful of floral debris. Emil took a deep breath.

“I’m really sorry for springing that request on you—I don’t even know if you _do_ weddings, and to insist that you let me help...that wasn’t fair. So I understand if you don’t want to, my family is pretty crazy and—” he stopped. Lalli was staring at him, holding out a long, thin object. When Emil didn’t say anything else, Lalli rolled his eyes and gestured for Emil to take it. It was a piece of straw. “What…?”

Lalli passed him the _Language of Flowers_ book, too. “Look it up.” After a moment, he added, “It should be under ‘corn straw’.”

Emil fumbled with the book. He managed to turn to the ‘C’ pages, read down the list— _coriander, corn, cornflower—_ until he came to _corn straw, broken: quarrel._ Emil swallowed hard. Had he managed to completely offend Lalli? Was he planning some terrible revenge? Then he looked at the straw in his hand, and realized it didn’t seem to be broken. He looked back at the page. _Corn straw, whole: agreement._

He looked up and met Lalli’s gaze. “You...you’re saying yes? You’ll do it?”

Lalli nodded. “Yes.” He stood up and moved aside so his cousin, who’d been lurking at the door to the back room, could take his place. “Talk to Tuuri about money now, I’m not doing that part.”

“Great! That’s perfect, I’ll talk to her and...uh...I’ll call you?” _Wait, that sounds like I want to call him to ask him out. Which...I DO want to do. But that’s not—_ “About the wedding. My cousin’s wedding. Yes, I will definitely call you. About that.”

“Sure.” Lalli paused by the door to the back room. “And Emil...keep the book for now. You’ll need it.”

* * *

 

Two days later, Lalli tried not to slouch in a spindly chair and wondered how he’d ended up there. He had known there were places like this: white tablecloths, silver so polished it shone, light scattering off crystal glasses—but he’d never been to one himself. One of his floral arrangements might be at home here, but he wasn’t.

In contrast, the woman across the table seemed perfectly at ease. She chattered on and on about name cards and place settings, only pausing to draw breath when the waiter came to pour more tea. At least Emil seemed as bored as Lalli was. His eyes glazed over, and when his cousin finally turned to address him he flinched so hard he nearly upset his teacup. “Hmm?”

She sighed and tossed her hair—which was also blond, though not nearly as bright and shiny as Emil’s. “I _said,_ we should talk about flowers now! I’m _dying_ to see what you brought!” She stretched out an imperious hand for the large plastic binder Lalli clutched to his chest. He let go of it reluctantly—it had given him something to do with his hands—and fidgeted with his napkin instead. He didn’t even _like_ the giant book full of laminated photos they kept around to show off for customers, but Tuuri had insisted he bring it.

“The section with wedding flowers is marked,” Emil said, leaning toward her. Tuuri had given him a rundown of the book’s contents before she let them out of the shop, along with a number of thinly-veiled threats about what would happen if he did anything to upset her cousin. Which was absurd. _Emil_ wasn’t going to upset Lalli. He _liked_ Emil. Emil’s cousin Karin, however…

“These are just so... _boring,”_ she said, sighing over the pages. “Everybody does roses. I thought Mom said you were going to do something _original._ I don’t want what everyone else has.”

“Well, of course yours won’t be the _same,_ these are just samples,” Emil said. He nodded at Lalli. “He’ll come up with something completely unique, once we have a better idea of what you like.”

Unfortunately, Emil’s cousin apparently liked...everything. For the next twenty minutes, she flipped cheerfully through the binder, pointing out how pretty _this one_ was, or how _that one_ was nice but it might clash with her dress, did it come in a different color? Emil smiled and nodded, jotting down the names of flowers, only to crumple his paper and start over when Karin changed her mind halfway through. Lalli gave up listening after a few minutes and started sketching on a scrap of paper from his pocket. He got so absorbed in what he was doing that it took him a while to notice when the conversation stopped. He looked up to see the other two staring at him. “What?”

Emil stretched out a hand for the paper. “May I?” Lalli shrugged and passed it over. _It’s a doodle. What’s so interesting about that?_

Karin stabbed the paper with her finger. “That! That’s what I want, right there. Look at how graceful it is! Will the colors fit with my theme?”

Emil opened his mouth as though to protest—from what they’d been told, her theme had changed three times in the past week—but apparently thought better of it. “Oh, yes,” he said, “I’m sure they will. Right, Lalli?”

Lalli nodded. Karin beamed. “Perfect!” She stood up, straightened her skirt, and waved a manicured hand at them. “I’ll leave the details to you two, then, I’m due for a dress fitting. Keep me posted!” She dropped some money on the table and swept out.

Emil slumped in his chair. “I...I’m so sorry. I forgot what she was like.”

Lalli picked up his teacup and knocked the contents back. Cold. Not enough sugar. It didn’t matter, though—everything felt sweeter now that the horrible woman was gone.

“Is that sketch...are those real flowers? Would you be able to do an arrangement like that?” Emil’s eyes were worried beneath his blond bangs. Lalli found himself wanting to ease that worry, to smooth out the wrinkle between his brows. _Wait. What?_

He shook himself. “Oh, I can do it.” Actually, the prospect of putting together _that_ particular arrangement filled him with a strange kind of glee. “And they are real flowers. Look them up.” He gestured to the _Language of Flowers_ book on the table in front of Emil.

“Uh...okay?” Emil flipped the book open. He turned pages as Lalli listed off names, writing down the meanings. Halfway through, a smile tugged at his lips. By the end, he was grinning. “Oh, this is _perfect._ I mean, it’s evil, but it suits her. And it’s not like she’ll know, right?”

Lalli leaned closer to check Emil’s work. The list read:

_Pink larkspur - Fickleness_

_Venus' looking glass - Flattery_

_Evening primrose - Inconstancy_

_Dahlia - Instability_

“She did say she wanted something different,” Lalli said.

Emil laughed, and the sound warmed the chilly tea room. “It’s different, all right.” He set the list aside and rested his chin on his hand, turning all of his attention to Lalli. “I’m glad we’re doing this.” At Lalli’s blank stare, he added, “Working together. Normally these family events are _awful—_ everyone’s on edge, trying to make it all perfect, and no one can take a joke. I always try to get out of them if I can. But with you around, I...well, it’s just nice to have someone else to acknowledge how ridiculous all this is.”

 _Ridiculous_ was one word for it. Lalli could think of several others, most of which weren’t polite enough to print in the _Language of Flowers_ book. It was tempting to give up the whole thing, turn down the job and go back to his safe room full of plants. But there were benefits, too, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to give them up.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Emil was still watching him, close enough that their elbows would touch if one of them stood up. Close enough for a lot of things.

Lalli drove that thought from his mind. “Yes. I think the waiter is watching to make sure we don’t set fire to the tablecloth or something.”

“Hey! That only happened once, and—oh, you were joking. You don’t even know about that. ” Emil pushed his chair back and gestured for Lalli to precede him out of the room. “Well, I’m not sure if he’s worried about that, but he’s _definitely_ making sure we don’t steal the silverware. Come on, I’ll walk you back to the shop.”

Yes, there was an upside to this otherwise terrible idea. Lalli could put up with the cousin’s indecision and the waiter’s glare and even Tuuri’s hovering, if it meant he got to spend more time with Emil. _It might be ridiculous, but it’s worth it._

* * *

 

_Thank goodness for Lalli. I couldn’t put up with this if it wasn’t for him._

“Eyyyyyymil! Can you come here? There’s a _teensy_ problem.”  
Emil bit back all the words he wanted to say—none of them helpful—and schooled his expression to something more-or-less pleasant. Then he took a deep breath, gave Lalli what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and went to answer his aunt’s summons.

“What can I do for you, Aunt Mimmi?”

His aunt pressed a be-ringed hand to her forehead. “Oh, it’s just...I’m not sure this is _quite_ right. Does it seem like it’s missing something to you?”

Emil studied the bouquet—one of the “test run” flower arrangements his aunt had insisted on having Lalli make up a week before the wedding—and shook his head. “It looks fine.”

The wrinkle on Aunt Mimmi’s forehead deepened. “No, there’s something...maybe it needs more of the little purple one?”

Emil thought there was plenty of “the little purple one”—purple larkspur, _haughtiness—_ already. But he also knew better to correct his aunt when she got in this mood. If her daughter was indecisive, Aunt Mimmi was the opposite; once she made up her mind, there was no dissuading her.

“I’m sure more of the purple wouldn’t hurt it,” he conceded. “I’ll ask Lalli to add more when he does the real one.”

Still the wrong thing to say, apparently. “But Emil,” she said, “that really won’t do. If I can’t see the final result, how will I know it’s going to be perfect? Maybe he won’t add enough additional flowers. Or _too_ many, which would just be awful!”

 _Right,_ Emil thought, _because that would be a tragedy_.

Emil ran through all the flowers he’d come to associate with his aunt over the past few weeks, their meanings gleaned from notes Lalli had slipped him. Xanthium: a spiny burr, appropriately meaning “rudeness”. Spiked willow herb for “pretension”, something Lalli had come up with after she’d spent an hour telling them how one mistake with the flowers would lead to the ruination of the wedding, the family, and possibly the entire world. And of course cinquefoil to represent “maternal affection”, because they’d heard her criticize Karin for her choice of hair, dress, and spouse more times than they could count. Armed with this mental bouquet of his aunt’s character traits, Emil said, “So what would you like me to do, then?”

Apparently that was the right question. “Be a dear and get some more flowers to fill it out. Or send your little florist to do it...do you think he can find the way back? This isn’t really his part of town.”

 _Not his part of—that’s it, I’ve had enough of her condescension and petty demands! How dare she talk about Lalli like that?_ Emil opened her mouth to give her a piece of his mind, but someone else spoke first.

“I think Emil should come with me. I might get lost.” Lalli stood in the doorway, holding one of the other arrangements he’d brought. “This is the last one, so we’ll just go get more of the purple flowers now. Emil?” He nodded toward the door.

 _Lalli, you beautiful man. I could kiss you. No, wait, I mean—_ He couldn’t let himself think about that. He couldn’t let himself think too hard about Lalli, especially not about _kissing_ Lalli, or he’d be too distracted. Couldn’t think about dragging Lalli out the door and pinning him against the wall, running his hands through that soft hair, staring into those eyes—

“Emil?”

He _really_ couldn’t let himself think about that.

“C-coming!” He bolted after Lalli. The cool air outside calmed the blush in his cheeks. But it didn’t do anything for his distraction. He was so busy trying not to think about Lalli’s cheekbones and the way the light glinted off his hair, it took him a while to notice that they weren’t walking in the direction of the flower shop.

“Umm...Lalli...where are we going?”

Lalli slowed his pace. “To get some purple larkspur.”

“But...the flower shop is…”

“We’re not going there.” Lalli refused to say anything else about their destination, merely kept walking. After a few minutes they arrived at a tall brick building—a short walk, but Emil was still consumed with curiosity. Lalli led the way inside—the doorman nodded as they passed—and pressed the elevator button. Emil held his questions in until the elevator came, but once they were inside he couldn’t stand it any longer.

“What is this? Where are you taking me?”

Lalli smirked and pressed the button for the top floor. “My apartment.”

Several thoughts collided in Emil’s head. The first was that he should have given his aunt that tongue-lashing after all, since Lalli actually _lived_ in the neighborhood she’d thought was too good for him. The second was that the mysterious florist was apparently wealthy enough to live on the top floor of a very nice apartment building. The third, which he tried in vain to stuff down below the other two, was: _Lalli’s bringing me to his apartment._ The place where he ate and slept and...probably did other things, too. And he wanted Emil to come inside.

When the elevator reached the top, Lalli pulled out a key and ushered Emil into a sunlit forest. Or not a real forest, but something close enough to pass for one - a room with enormous windows, full of the lush greenery Emil was beginning to expect from Lalli. As they stepped further into the room, Emil saw that the plants were carefully arranged to allow for more mundane activities in their midst: a kitchen screened by potted herbs and hanging vines, succulents scattered in between books on a shelf, and a small forest of flowers and miniature trees lining a path to a desk in the corner. Lalli set off for a door on the other end of the room.

“I think I have some purple larkspur in the bedroom. Wait here.”

Emil didn’t follow, but he couldn’t stay still, either. Everywhere he looked, there was another piece of information about the man who lived here—how he ordered his life, where he spent his time. Inevitably, Emil’s feet carried him down the forest path to the desk.

There were more flowers here. Not just living specimens, though of course there were those. But the walls above the desk were a garden in their own right—a garden of watercolors.  Painted flowers, colors vibrant against stark white paper. Delicate studies of leaves, bark, berries. A series of trees, the same trees in each picture, in different seasons. Emil traced the outline of bare winter branches, breathless at the intricate details—

“Emil.”

He turned, slowly. “Lalli.” Too many words tripped over each other. _These are beautiful. You’re beautiful._ And he was, standing by the door with long stalks of purple flowers clutched to his chest. Emil wished he had a picture of _that_ to hang on his own wall.

“What are you...?”

“I’m sorry, I…” They both let their words taper off. Eventually Emil tried again.

“Did you do all of these?”

Lalli nodded. He stepped closer, reached up to brush his fingers over the scraps of paper on the wall. “Just studies. To relax. Unwind.” He met Emil’s eyes. “I don’t usually show people.”

“They’re…” Beautiful wasn’t the word for it. There were no words. It felt like Lalli had shown him some secret piece of himself, and Emil had no idea what to say. So he reached up to touch the back of Lalli’s outstretched hand. Only a brief whisper of skin against skin, but it sent shivers all the way up his arm. “Thank you for showing me.”

They left the apartment with flowers in hand, each quiet with the weight of his own thoughts. Emil watched Lalli lock the door behind him, followed him to the elevator, allowed him to take the lead on the way back to the event hall. Watched, and wondered: _How did I ever get by without Lalli? And what am I going to do when this wedding is over and I have to do without him again?_

_ _

* * *

 

Lalli set his empty tea mug in the sink. It was his third cup of the night, and it hadn’t helped. Nothing helped. He paced the length of the apartment, checking the plants for signs of something that needed doing. Nothing. He’d already pinched off all the dead leaves, checked the moisture of the soil, turned them to catch the light better. The plants were fine. Lalli was not.

His feet carried him back to the corner desk. Half a dozen sheets of watercolor paper lay crumpled on the floor—failed attempts to put his thoughts on paper. He’d tried painting every calming plant he could think of, but none of them came to life on the page. With a sigh, he leaned on the desk to study the paintings tacked to the wall. _These were easy. They just...flowed. So why can’t I get anything to look right now?_ He laid his hand in the space he’d touched that afternoon—the same place where Emil’s hand had met his. _And that’s the answer, isn’t it? I can’t paint what I don’t feel._

Sighing, he pulled out a fresh sheet and took up his brush. A flower formed on the page—one he’d never had cause to paint before. It scared him, but the flutter of fear mixed with a thrill of excitement. _Yes. This is right._ He let the feelings wash through him, pigment spreading over a page. _Purple Lilac. First emotions of love._

_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it looks like Emil isn't going to ask Lalli out for coffee after all. But why settle for that when he can invite him to his cousin's wedding instead? Even if it means subjecting him to demanding relatives. (And alas, even though we have a whole beautiful family tree, I'm still having to invent relatives. Since we don't officially know anything about Emil's mother's family, I can assume he has a cousin of marriageable age on that side.)
> 
> Also, many thanks to the kind souls on Tumblr who responded to my question about obnoxious songs Emil would have for an alarm clock. There were SO many great suggestions, I was sad I couldn't use them all! I ended up choosing the one I did because several people mentioned ABBA, and the words seemed appropriate for what Emil is hoping for in this story. A few other people mentioned Eurovision, which I can also totally see Emil being all about, and drepedetihjel actually made [this playlist of Eurovision songs](http://worldsentwined.tumblr.com/post/153533572719/my-hand-slipped) that Emil would probably like, which is so great! I have to agree, I can definitely see him listening to all of these!


	3. Tying the Knot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's wedding day! For...Emil's cousin. But that means Emil and Lalli have to make sure the flowers are just perfect.
> 
> Other things don't go so perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS FIC LIVES!!! I've been sitting on this chapter for SO LONG because it became clear while I was writing it that this fic would need to be four chapters, not three. (There's also a possibility of an epilogue, I haven't decided yet). Anyway, I got blocked on the last chapter for a long time, but I finally have it in a good place, so I can post this one! Thank you all for your patience. ^_^

Wedding day. Emil paused outside the flower shop, trying in vain to straighten his tie in the reflective glass. _It has to be perfect. I don’t want Lalli to see me looking like a rumpled disaster._

Luckily, it was Tuuri who appeared on the other side of the window and startled him so badly he nearly choked himself. “Why are you standing out here? Come on in, Lalli should be ready in a minute. He had to make some last-minute changes to one of the boutonnieres.”

Emil followed her into the shop, surreptitiously loosening the tie. The shop wasn’t open for business yet, but the central display table was filled with familiar arrangements. Emil stepped closer to admire them. “They came out perfect,” he breathed.

“Right? Lalli really outdid himself,” Tuuri said. “Though according to him, none of this would have been possible without you. He says it was all your idea.”

Emil laughed. “If he said that, he was being modest. He’s the artist, I’m just the one who nagged him into taking the job. But I guess he’s too humble, he doesn’t like to take credit for his work.”

Tuuri gave him a strange look. “That doesn’t sound like him at all, actually. He knows he’s good at what he does.”

 _Then why would he say this happened because of me?_ Yet another of Lalli’s mysteries, and Emil was running out of time to solve them. Unless he managed to buy himself some more. _She’s his cousin. Maybe she can give me some advice._

“Tuuri,” he started, “about Lalli...I was wondering…”

“Here.” Emil whipped around—he hadn’t heard the door, but Lalli never really made noise when he moved. “This is everything. Should we go?”

The words “yes, of course, let’s go” hovered just out of Emil’s reach. They’d been on the tip of his tongue before the sight of Lalli struck him and rendered speech impossible. Lalli wasn’t in his usual uniform of holey jeans and tattered, baggy sweater. He’d exchanged it for black slacks and a collared shirt, with shiny black shoes on his feet and a dove-grey waistcoat. A sky blue tie hung loose over one shoulder.

“Lalli! I thought you said you could do the tie yourself!” Tuuri said. She reached for it, but Lalli fended her off with the box he carried.

“Don’t touch me! These are delicate.”

Tuuri rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Lalli, I can tie your tie _without_ bumping that box of corsages. Just let me—”

“I can help him.” Both Hotakainens turned to stare at Emil. He swallowed hard and added, “When we get there. Lalli’s right, we should load the flowers and get on our way.”

Tuuri looked skeptical, but she let her hand drop and turned to start gathering flowers from the table. “All right. Lalli, go ahead and take your box out. Emil, will you help me with these?” When Lalli was gone, she pierced Emil with a glare. “You’re not going to do anything stupid and upset him, are you?”

“What?!” Emil nearly dropped the vase he was holding. “Why do you keep asking me that?”

“Because he looks at you like you’re some new plant he’s never seen before. He’s actually _leaving_ the shop to go work at this wedding with you. Do you have any idea what a big deal that is? He doesn’t _do_ that!”

“He...doesn’t?” Emil didn’t know what to do with that information. If Lalli didn’t do events like this, why hadn’t he said so? What else about him was he missing? “Then why…”

“You really don’t know?” Tuuri shook her head. “Then I’m not going to tell you. But don’t try to pretend you’re only in this for the flowers. I saw your face just now.”

Emil averted his eyes and busied himself with gathering up vases. She wasn’t wrong; for Emil, this had been about more than the flowers for a long time. But how was he supposed to tell Lalli? It wasn’t like he could just bring it up casually. They were working together, and as soon as they left the flower shop they’d be thrust into the world of Emil’s crazy family. He already felt bad about subjecting Lalli to his aunt and his cousin; today’s crowd of uncles, great-aunts, and second-cousins-once-removed would be infinitely worse.

But once the wedding was over, he would have no excuse to talk to Lalli at all. They were bound together for now, like a ribbon tied around a bouquet, but the knot was about to come undone.

 _I have to tell him,_ he realized, _today. Before the wedding is over._ Maybe even before the wedding _started_ ; once it did, he’d be swept up in a swarm of family, and might not get a chance to talk to Lalli privately before he left. _When we’re finished setting up the decorations,_ he decided, loading the last of the arrangements into the van. He’d do it then. Whatever happened after that, at least he’d know.

* * *

 

The ride to the wedding venue took forever. Not because it was a long distance—it wasn’t—but because Tuuri would _not_ stop talking the entire time she drove. When Lalli had agreed to do this, he’d forgotten that someone would have to actually transport the flowers. Emil had borrowed a car to pick up the flowers for his mother, but he couldn’t fit an entire wedding’s worth in there. And Lalli...well, he’d never needed to drive before, and he didn’t plan to start now. Still, he wished there had been a way to do this without Tuuri. He was running out of opportunities to be alone with Emil.

He looked down at the box in his lap, gripping the sides carefully so as not to shift anything. Of all the arrangements he did, corsages and boutonnieres were the most delicate. Usually, he could pass them off to their recipients at the shop—or Tuuri could, once he passed them off to her—and he wouldn't have to worry about whether or not they'd make it safely to their destination. But these...he wasn't worried about them for the sake of the money. He didn't even really care if the wedding party liked them, or if they fell apart halfway through the ceremony. Not that they would. He was too good for that. No, Lalli only cared about one particular boutonniere. It had come to him last-minute, late last night when he fought insomnia and lost. He'd been up early this morning to put it together.

On the surface, it was a simple arrangement; one blossom, dressed in its own green leaves. Lalli reached out and touched one velvety petal. _Moss rosebud. Confession of love._ It wasn't for the groom or any of his groomsman. He meant it for the man in the seat behind him, who leaned up every now and then to give Tuuri directions.

"That's the hotel on the right," he was saying now, stretching his arm to point. Tuuri made the turn, and Emil kept talking. "They said we can take the flowers to the south entrance, it's closer to the banquet hall and the room where the ceremony is taking place." He turned to smile at Lalli. "Just about time to work your magic, right?"

As far as Lalli was concerned, Emil's smile was magic. If flowers would keep it pointed in his direction, he'd conjure as many bouquets as he could.

But he couldn't say that. So he said, "Sure. The magic of using flowers to insult your relatives without them knowing."

Emil laughed. Tuuri raised an eyebrow, but she didn't ask.

In contrast to the endless drive, unloading the flowers took no time at all. When the last of them was safely in the staging area, Tuuri said her goodbyes.

"I'll be at the market all morning, but after that I'll head back to the shop. Call if you need anything! You have plenty of extras, right?"

Lalli snorted. "Of course. I'm not an idiot." He had enough spare flowers to make another dozen table arrangements, if he had to. Hopefully he wouldn't. It would be much better if he could do his job quickly and find a quiet place to hide out for the rest of the day. _Except then I won't be around Emil. Annoying._ Maybe he could drag Emil off to the quiet place, too.

But for now Emil was the one directing things. "We should probably start with the room where they're doing the ceremony, since that's happening first. Most of the decorations went up last night, but obviously the flowers couldn't happen until now. Which ones are going there?"

The question shook Lalli out of his daydreaming and into business mode. He directed Emil to the right flowers, and the two of them set to work. It was simple to add the flowers to the confections of ribbon and lace draped all over everything, but it took a lot of time. Luckily, Emil caught on quickly. "I never realized how tedious your job is," he joked, sticking yet another primrose into place. Lalli rolled his eyes and kept working. If Emil noticed the smile on his face, he didn't say anything.

After they finished the first room, they moved on to the reception hall. The room sparkled: crystal on the tables, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, swathes of white fabric with tiny mirrors placed strategically around the space. It was nice, Lalli supposed, for a wedding. With his flowers, it would be exquisite.

He lost himself in his work, making sure every arrangement was placed just so. It would be perfect. He would make it perfect, and no one would dare to say he was less than the best florist in the city. No amount of condescending aunts or flighty cousins could change that. Everything would be perfect, and Emil would see—

Lalli blinked, found himself staring at a vase full of flowers. It was finished. All of them were finished, and Emil was standing next to him looking concerned.

"Lalli? Are you all right?" At his nod, Emil relaxed a little. "Good. If you're done here, we should probably deliver the bouquets and boutonnieres before Aunt Mimmi comes looking for us." He placed a hand on Lalli’s arm and steered him toward the door.

 _This is it. Once we get the other people out of the way, I’ll give him the rose._ And then Emil would know, and Lalli would know if Emil felt the same way. Unless of course Emil didn’t understand the meaning of the flower. _What will I do if he doesn’t? And...what will I do if he does?_

Before they could get to the staging area, Emil stopped him. “Wait. What did you do with your tie? I promised to help you with it.”

Oh. Right. Lalli rummaged around in his pocket until he produced the garment in question. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t have worn it. But Tuuri had threatened all kinds of dire consequences if he didn’t and...well. He’d seen Emil’s face when he’d arrived at the shop this morning. If he liked the fancy clothes, maybe he’d like the tie, too.

“I might be a little slow,” Emil said, “I don’t usually do this on anyone but myself.” His hand brushed the tips of Lalli’s hair as he looped the fabric around his neck.

Lalli couldn't help himself; he leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, Emil's face was the same shade as the primroses they'd been using to decorate. "H-hold still," he said, "I don't want to accidentally pull it too tight."

Lalli made an effort to control himself, but it was hard. Emil was right here, with his hands hovering over Lalli's chest as he struggled with the knot. His tongue stuck out in concentration, and Lalli was torn between laughing at how silly it looked and...well...doing something else entirely. All too soon, Emil pulled the knot tight with a practiced motion, settling it snug against the collar of Lalli's shirt. His hands dropped to his sides, but he didn't back away. His eyes were soft; something about his expression reminded Lalli of the time they’d visited his apartment and he’d caught Emil looking at his watercolors. He took a deep breath, and Lalli thought his own lungs might burst.

"Lalli," Emil said, reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind his ear, "I...I wanted to tell you—"

"THERE you are! I've been looking all over for you two! We have to get the boutonnieres and bouquets locked and loaded, it's time to go!" Emil's aunt's shrill voice broke in on the moment. Both of them jumped back, guilt written all over their faces.

Emil recovered first. “Of course, Aunt Mimmi! We were just...finishing up in here.” He followed his aunt from the room. Lalli took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It had almost seemed like...but no. He'd stick to the plan. He wasn't much good with words, but he had a flower to speak for him.

Sorting out the bouquets and boutonnieres turned out to be much worse than the rest of the decorating. Lalli could do flowers. But he couldn't do people, and in order to make sure the right flowers went to the right groomsman or bridesmaid, people had to be involved. Emil's aunt insisted they take the bouquets to the bridal dressing room first, so the two of them loaded their arms with flowers and trekked down the long hallway. A babble of female voices rose from behind the door. Emil straightened his shoulders, shot Lalli a sympathetic look, and knocked.

"What are you _doing?"_ Shrieked the woman who opened the door. Her hair fell in a mass of curls over one shoulder, and she only had makeup on one eye. "We can't have any men in here before the wedding! It's bad luck or something!"

The noise attracted attention; Emil's cousin extracted herself from the mess of people fluttering around her and came over. "Don't be an idiot, it's only bad luck for me to see the groom! This is just my cousin and the florist, it's fine."

The other girl's mouth formed a little 'o'. “Cousin, hmm?” She stepped away from the door and waved them in, looking both of them—but especially Emil—up and down. Their arrival met with a chorus of delight once the other women realized they came bearing flowers.

"They're perfect!" Karin declared, clutching her bouquet to her chest. "I can't believe you managed to do exactly what I wanted! Look, ladies, aren't they fantastic?" The rest of the women voiced their agreement, smiling and chattering away as Emil and Lalli passed the bouquets around. Emil chatted back, not seeming to mind the attention. Lalli wanted to find a small dark space to crawl into and never come out.

It was almost a relief when Emil’s aunt shooed them out of the room, ordering them to 'get the groomsmen into their boutonnieres and stop flirting with the bridesmaids!' The bridesmaids giggled, Emil blushed, and Lalli darted into the hallway so fast he nearly struck the opposite wall.

The groomsmen were easier, if only because they didn't all seem to want to flirt with Emil. But as Lalli pinned boutonnieres to jackets, he couldn't help remembering Emil's hands on him earlier, the look on his face when he'd finished tying the tie. _Soon. We'll finish up with this, and then...then I'll give it to him._

At long last they distributed all the flowers, and the two of them were alone in the staging room. Lalli picked listlessly at some fallen petals; tidying them up had become a habit after long years in the floral business. Emil made an effort to help him, but he mostly seemed to be pushing debris around with a broom without actually cleaning. Lalli sighed, shook himself, and straightened his shoulders. Right. He could do this. He reached for the box with the last boutonniere, removing the delicate blossom from its cushion of tissue paper—and Emil spoke.

"Lalli? Can I...talk to you?" The words pulled him in, swung him around like a plant turning to face the sun. Emil set his broom aside and took a step closer. "I...well, there's something I've been meaning to say for a while now. I wanted to tell you, or...well, ask you, or both, for most of the time we've known each other. I was too much of a mess to do it at first, and then we got involved in this whole wedding thing, and then...well. It's the wedding, and you're probably going to go home soon, and then I won't see you again and—shit! I can't even get the words out!" He took another step forward. "Fuck it all, I'm just going to do it." And with that, he closed the rest of the distance between them and kissed Lalli.

Lalli's brain screamed _What?!_ and then _oh_ and then _oh my god is this really happening?_ He was too stunned to kiss Emil back, or to pull him closer, or any of the hundred other things he wanted to do. Emil was kissing him. It was glorious and terrifying and almost too much after all the noise of the day. And then it was over, because Emil pulled away, stammering an apology.

"Lalli, I...shit. Shit, I'm sorry, I thought—" His face was red as a geranium.

 _Scarlet geranium. Stupidity._ The thought shook Lalli from his frozen state. "Wait. Emil—"

He wanted to tell him not to go. That Emil could kiss him again if he wanted to, and this time Lalli might even kiss him back. There were so many things he wanted to say, but the words got stuck in his throat. His fingers closed compulsively around the flower, nearly crushing the delicate petals. _Just give it to him. Hold out your hand, let him see the flower—_

"Emil! What are you still doing in here? People are taking their seats, you need to get in there!" The aunt again, chirping away like nothing was happening.

Emil flinched, straightening his tie. His face was still red, but it could have been from the heat of the room. "I'll be right there, Aunt Mimmi," he called. And then, softer, "Lalli, I really am sorry. Will you...will you stay around? You could come in to the wedding, I'm sure no one will care—no?" Lalli was shaking his head. No. No wedding. He couldn't handle a room full of people right now.

"Then...later? I could call you, or you could meet me somewhere..."

No. No, it was all too much, there were too many questions and too much noise and he couldn't, he _couldn't_ do this—

"Emil, come along! You are _not_ going to be late to your own cousin's wedding, or so help me—"

Far too much. Lalli broke away and bolted for the door, disregarding the aunt's startled stare or the sound of Emil's voice behind him, calling his name. He ran, some instinct guiding him on the fastest path to the exit. Out, away, he had to _go, it's all too much I can't do this._

Somehow, he made it outside without being stopped. Made it out of the hotel parking lot without getting hit by a car. Made it three blocks away before he came to his senses and slowed, panting from stress more than exertion. It took him three tries to dial Tuuri's number, his hands were shaking so badly.

"Lalli?" Her voice on the other side sounded worried. "Is everything all right?"

He couldn't say anything, just focused on breathing. In. Out. He could manage that much.

"I'll take that as a 'no'. Hang on, I'm coming to get you. Are you still at the hotel?"

A pause, then Lalli tapped near the microphone of his phone once. Their signal for 'no'.

"Okay. Are you still on the same street?"

Two taps. Yes.

"All right. I'll be there soon. Don't leave, okay?" She hung up, and Lalli did the same. It wasn't until he put his phone in his pocket that he realized he was no longer holding Emil's boutonniere.

 

* * *

 

Emil went through the rest of the wedding in a daze. He couldn't focus on the ceremony, and barely noticed when it ended and the crowd made its way to the reception hall. All he could think about was Lalli's face, the stunned expression after Emil had kissed him. _Fuck. I fucked it all up, I just HAD to ruin things! Now I'll never see him again, and it's all my fault._

People kept coming up and trying to talk to him. He was vaguely aware that he was surrounded by his family, a situation he usually did his best to avoid. _What does it matter? I fucked up._

"Emil! How have you been! I haven't seen you since you were knee-high!"

"I fucked up."

By the time the happy couple started their first dance, he couldn't take it anymore. He dodged guests until he found a deserted hallway where he could be alone. He leaned against the wall and sank slowly down. "Fuck." His fingers uncurled, and he looked at the object he'd been carrying around for hours. A single rosebud, wrapped with a pin like a boutonniere. _What is this? What did Lalli mean by it?_ Obviously, it was a _rose_ ; there was no denying what that meant even if he didn’t know the nuance of this particular rose. The flower book could probably tell him. But...but he didn't want to rely on a book to understand Lalli. He wanted to learn to understand the florist all the time, to know his secrets and offer up his own. And he knew there was no flower that could truly tell Lalli how he felt. Just like there was no way to know if Lalli would still want to give him a rose after he’d kissed him without permission.

_I have to try again. Even if he doesn't want to see me...even if he wants nothing to do with me now. I have to try. I'll go, and I'll talk, and maybe...maybe he'll give me another chance._

The problem was, he'd completely overstepped Lalli's boundaries. He couldn't just walk in and start talking, could he? No, he had to find a better way. Something that would give Lalli a chance to process, a way that would give him a graceful exit if he no longer wanted anything to do with Emil.

Emil turned the rosebud between his fingers, and an idea began to bloom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, what a place to end! Don't worry - chapter four will be coming soon.


	4. Untangling the Knot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emil and Lalli must sort out their feelings and find a way to communicate - with or without the help of flowers.

There were no flowers to describe Lalli’s feelings. He tried to paint, but the pigments ran together and blurred into muddy brown. Shame, regret, longing—all of them warred in his head, and none of them came out the clear victor. His tea tasted of ashes. Even his miniature forest did nothing to help.

Lalli didn't sleep at all on Sunday night, but Monday morning found him at the flower shop anyway. His apartment was a cage, too full of all the nights he’d spent thinking about Emil. Better to drown himself in work instead.

Evidently, Tuuri felt the same, because she brought him a constant stream of orders as the day went on. They were all standard arrangements, roses and baby’s breath and a whole rainbow of carnations. There was nothing original about any of them. And there was no word from Emil.

Lalli knew he’d ruined things. Emil had kissed him, and he’d run away. Even his message with the rosebud had gotten lost; someone had probably thrown it in the trash with the rest of the floral debris he’d left behind. Surely Emil wouldn’t have wanted it anyway, after what happened.

“I’m going out. Can I get anything for you?” He’d been so caught up in arranging and rearranging a bunch of tulips that he hadn’t heard Tuuri approach. She kept checking on him, coming by with concerned words and stacks of orders to fill. It must have been busy in the front, because she usually went to lunch much earlier. 

“No.” Lalli shook his head. He wasn’t hungry, and the one thing he wanted was something she couldn’t give him.

“All right.” Tuuri sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I’ll try not to be gone too long—it’s been a crazy day. I’ve told Reynir not to let anyone bother you, so just...keep working as long as you feel up to it, okay?” She left, and Lalli went back to his joyless tulips.

The quiet didn’t last. He’d moved on from the tulips to an uninspired table arrangement for a retirement party when he heard the sound of raised voices coming from the front of the shop. It wasn’t all that unusual—some customers were particular about their flowers, and Tuuri had to be firm with them. But Tuuri was gone, and Reynir  _ never  _ yelled. Or came into the workroom with a determined look on his face, like the one he had on right now.

“Lalli, you have to come out here.”

Lalli turned to glare at him. Usually, Reynir would back off when met with that response, but this time he held fast. “I’m sorry, but you have to! He won’t leave!”

For a moment Lalli couldn’t think who ‘he’ might be. Then it hit him, and he rose to his feet and drifted toward the door. This was it. Emil had come to confront him, and he’d have to explain what happened, but he  _ couldn’t  _ explain so it would all fall apart. He’d go back to quiet days in the workroom and lonely nights wondering how he could have mended things. Best to get it over with. He braced himself and opened the door.

There was a blond man in the shop, but it wasn’t Emil. It was a giant bear of a man wearing a delivery man’s uniform and a long-suffering expression. He raised an eyebrow when Lalli appeared and shifted his grip on a cellophane-covered package. “Are you Lalli Hotakainen?”

“Why?” No one sent him packages. Hardly anyone who didn’t work here even knew he  _ existed _ .

The delivery man rolled his eyes. “Because this is for someone named Lalli Hotakainen, and I’m not allowed to leave until I deliver it into his hands. The customer was very insistent.”

“Oh.” Lalli nodded. “That’s me.” 

The man set his burden on the counter and thrust a clipboard and a pen at Lalli. “Sign here.”

Lalli signed his name and pulled away the crinkling plastic to see what was in the package. It looked a little like a floral arrangement, but it wasn’t. "Strawberries?" There were dozens of them, some covered in chocolate and others sliced into fanciful shapes. All of them were skewered and arranged to look like some kind of flowering shrub.

"Strawberry tree," the delivery man said, on his way out the door, "They're very popular. " 

Lalli nearly dropped the parcel in surprise.  _ Strawberry tree. Esteem and love.  _ He fumbled for the card. 

_ Apparently strawberries don't actually grow on trees. This was the best I could do. I’m sorry, I’ll stop bothering you now. _

There was no signature, simply the letter "E". Lalli didn't even need that much to know who it was from. But part of the message didn’t make sense. Emil hadn’t been bothering him. He hadn’t even  _ heard  _ from Emil. Unless…

Lalli looked up from the strawberries, and the sight of Reynir’s guilty face confirmed his suspicions. “Have you had any  _ other  _ demanding customers today?”

Reynir looked everywhere  _ except  _ at Lalli. “Tuuri said not to bother you with that. She handled it.” He started to say more, but Lalli wasn’t listening.

“Where is it?” Emil wouldn’t have gone away without leaving a message.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—” Reynir began, but his gaze strayed to the wastebasket. Lalli tipped it over and pulled out a handful of crumpled-up order forms.

_ Columbine, scarlet geraniums.  _ Folly, stupidity.  _ Pomegranate, sprig of ivy with tendrils.  _ Foolishness, assiduous to please. Lalli shook his head and set the page aside. The next one read:  _ spruce pine, volkamenia, dead leaves.  _ Hope in adversity, may you be happy, melancholy. The last one simply said:  _ Christmas rose.  _ Relieve my anxiety. 

Thoughts whirled through Lalli’s head like petals in a hurricane. Emil didn’t hate him. Emil was  _ trying to apologize.  _ He didn’t know what to do with that information yet. But he had something else to deal with first. 

Reynir was still watching him, nervously twisting the end of his braid. Lalli didn’t even have to say anything, simply folded his arms and waited. It only took a minute before Reynir caved.

“I’m sorry, but Tuuri was so angry! He kept coming in with more orders, and she kept throwing them in the trash. Then he said he would keep coming back until he got an answer from you. He said something about—” Reynir screwed up his face, trying to remember, “—offering you a rose every day, if that’s what it would take.”

_ Daily rose. Thy smile I aspire to.  _ Lalli felt his breath hitching in his chest.

“Are you...okay?” Reynir asked. “Tuuri made me promise not to tell you, but I didn’t know the delivery guy had anything to do with  _ this.  _ And they’re just flowers, right?”

They weren’t just flowers. None of this had ever been about flowers, not from the moment Emil first walked in the door with a credit card and a mouthful of profanity. It was a dance, a conversation held through green stems and fragrant blooms. They’d found their rhythm, then lost it; Emil had held out his hand one final time. The next step was up to Lalli.

So instead of answering Reynir, Lalli  plucked a strawberry from the basket and popped it into his mouth. Sweetness exploded across his tongue, a reminder of other sweet things he'd like to taste. Lalli closed his eyes and sighed.

"Everything is fine," he said. And it was. Or at least, it would be.

* * *

 

For the second time in three days, Emil faced his worried reflection in the flower shop window. He knew he really shouldn’t go in. If his previous visits were anything to go by, he wouldn’t get any farther than the main desk, and he wouldn’t see Lalli. He’d been there three times the day before, trying and failing to get Lalli to talk with him. The last time, when he’d made the comment about daily roses, Tuuri had threatened to call the police. The edible arrangement had been his last hope; he’d gotten the delivery confirmation and everything. But there had been no response from Lalli.

_ Just face it, Emil,  _ he said to himself _ , He doesn't want to see you. You have to move on. _

And he would. But he had to try one more time. So he straightened his collar, smoothed his hair, and opened the door.

“I told you I would call the police.” Tuuri said. She waited behind the counter, glaring, while Reynir hovered nervously nearby. When Emil stepped closer, she reached for the phone.

Emil backed up hastily. “And I don’t blame you—but please, hear me out first! It’s not what you think!” He held his hands out, pleading. Tuuri didn’t relax her scowl, but she paused with her hand on the receiver.

“I warned you, Västerström. I told you to be careful! But you didn’t listen, and now Lalli is hurting.” She drew herself up to her full height—which shouldn’t have been intimidating, but was—and leaned across the counter. “So I’m going to say this one more time: Leave. Lalli. ALONE.”

“I’m not here to pester Lalli again,” Emil said. As much as he wanted to, it was clear now that he’d gotten his answer, through silence instead of words. Persisting would only hurt Lalli more. “I came to apologize for yesterday. And for...well, everything.”

Tuuri drummed her fingers on the counter. “You don’t owe  _ me  _ an apology.” 

“But I messed up.” Emil couldn’t look at her, couldn’t face the fury in her eyes. It too closely mirrored his own self-loathing. “You tried to tell me all along that I shouldn’t—that I was no good for Lalli. If I had listened to you, none of this would have happened.” He heaved a sigh and turned to go. “So I’m sorry. Please tell him that, if you think it will help. I never meant to hurt him.”

He had his hand on the door handle when Tuuri spoke. “You weren’t all bad for him.”

“What?” Emil turned around. Tuuri still looked angry, but less like she wanted to climb over the counter and strangle him.

Tuuri shook her head. “Nothing. It’s just, for a while there he seemed to be doing really well. I’ve never seen him take such an interest in another person.” She shrugged. “I guess it was all too much.”

Despite himself, Emil felt a tiny flicker of hope. “Do you think he...do you think—” He didn’t know how to say it.

Tuuri seemed to know, though. “Emil, go home,” she said.  “There’s nothing more you can do here.”

Emil went.

It started to rain as he walked back to his apartment, but Emil couldn’t bring himself to care. All he could think about was Lalli, and how much it hurt that he would never see him again. Everywhere he looked, there was another reminder of what he’d lost. Forget-me-nots sprang up in bunches around doorsteps.  _ True love.  _ A child plucked something from the grass and ran up to her mother, shouting excitedly about the four-leafed clover she’d found.  _ Be mine.  _ He walked past window boxes overflowing with colorful blooms, tiny garden plots with cautious green stems poking through, and although he didn’t know all of their names, every single one of them made his heart sing  _ Lalli, Lalli, Lalli.  _

Emil was so preoccupied with these thoughts that he barely noticed when he arrived at his apartment. He had his eyes on the floor, busy with dropping his keys into his bag and closing the door behind him, so it was the smell that struck him first. His apartment didn't smell  _ bad,  _ usually, but now it smelled...nice. Like spring meadows, or...a flower shop. His head snapped up. His bag slowly slid to the floor.

"How...?" Someone had been in his apartment. It was the only explanation, because otherwise where had the flowers come from? Everywhere he looked, his eyes found gorgeous bouquets; he couldn't draw breath without inhaling their perfume. Too many flowers for him to name: roses, tulips, some blueish purple flowers that might have been violets, and others he didn't recognize. Emil took a hesitant step forward. There were more flowers in the kitchen, and the living room was stuffed with them. 

"What is this?" he breathed, not expecting an answer. But someone stirred amid the flowers. Emil turned, slowly, just as Lalli got to his feet and stepped away from the window.

"Do you like them?" Lalli asked. His voice barely rose above a whisper, but his words carried clearly to Emil's heart. He wrapped his arms tightly across his chest and stood waiting. "Your neighbor lady let me in." He looked down at his feet. "I...I should have just left them for you, but I wasn't sure I'd have the courage to come back." He fidgeted with the stem of a single flower, twirling it so fast the petals blurred.

Emil moved towards him, stepping around the flowers to do so. "You...you did all this for me?" His heart was beating so loudly he was surprised Lalli couldn't hear it.

Lalli nodded. "I didn't know how else to tell you."

Another few steps closer. Lalli didn't back away. "Tell me what?" Hope blossomed in his chest, threatened to burst out of him like seedlings after a spring rain.  _ Roses. Tulips. Blue violets. Love, love love.  _

"You sent me apologies by flower," Lalli said, "and a tree of strawberries. And..." he hesitated, then took a step towards Emil, "And you kissed me." Another step. They were close enough to touch now. Lalli was looking at Emil with the same intense gaze he wore when he arranged flowers. "I should have kissed you back." This close, Emil could see that the flower in his hand was a daisy, the ordinary kind found in gardens all over the city.  _ Garden daisy. I return your sentiments.  _

Emil couldn't breathe. The perfumed scent of flowers wrapped around him, and Lalli's words sank in. 

"I should never have let you go," he said. And then Lalli was kissing him, and Emil pulled him close and kissed him back. All the world was Lalli's mouth, Lalli's hands, Lalli's body pressed against him and Lalli's flowers filling everything else. Emil never wanted it to end.

They had to stop eventually, of course. They pulled apart with great reluctance, going back for small kisses on the neck or the jaw just when they'd agreed to take a break. Emil kept murmuring embarrassing endearments against Lalli's lips, and Lalli responded with pleased humming and extra kisses. When they finally managed to part long enough for some blood to return to Emil's brain, he took Lalli's hands and let out a little laugh.

"What?" Lalli said. He was smiling, that little secret smile Emil had always wanted to bring out in him. Emil hoped he'd be seeing a lot more of it from now on.

"It's just...ha. I think my apartment has as many flowers in it as yours does." He looked for a place to sit down, and couldn’t find one.

Lalli looked around the room. "Hmm." He laid his head on Emil's shoulder. "I didn't really think about that. There are a lot of them, aren't there?" He didn't sound particularly bothered. In all honesty, Emil wasn't either.

“Maybe my neighbor would like some.” He owed her his thanks, and probably also a lecture about letting strangers in with his spare key.

Lalli only smiled and wrapped his arm around Emil. "We can do whatever you want with the flowers," he said, "as long as I can keep you."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! I hope it was worth all the waiting. I really appreciate all the enthusiasm and nice comments, you all definitely helped motivate me to keep writing thi! I do have a short epilogue in the works, but I'm not really sure whether or not it's necessary. If I decide it is (or if people are clamoring to know a bit about how things work out for these two) I'll add it on later. ^_^
> 
> Oh, and if anyone isn't sure what exactly is happening with Emil's "Strawberry tree", google the phrase "edible arrangements" and you'll find some good samples. It was one of those situations where the flower language guides I was using listed a plant I've never heard of (because strawberries...don't grow on trees?) so I had to improvise. I imagine Emil would do the same.

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration from this fic came from a [Tumblr post](http://many-anduin-wrynns.tumblr.com/post/145911940571/flower-shop-au) which I'd seen floating around. (The one I linked may not be the one I'd originally seen, but it was the one lilithqueen dug up for me when we were talking about it.)
> 
> I also used [this website](http://archive.org/stream/languageofflower00gree#page/n51/mode/2up) and [this one](http://www.languageofflowers.com/flowermeaning.htm) as references for the flower meanings. In cases where they disagreed, or one site listed a flower having a meaning the other didn't, I went with whichever option worked the best for me. Also, for the purposes of this fic, assume some sort of magic is going on which allows Lalli to grow any kind of plant indoors in any season. I know that's very unlikely/impossible, but I was more interested in the supposed meanings of the flowers and how Emil and Lalli would use them to communicate. *waves flag that says "artistic license" and "suspension of disbelief" with apologies to readers who actually know things about plants*


End file.
